Chapter 8

Yingzhen, after a moment of careful deliberation, decisively grabbed me and turned to flee.

I stumbled along as she led the way, forced to tighten my grip on her hand. "S-Senior Sister..."

I suddenly felt a strange sensation and looked back, locking eyes with a pair of dark, smiling pupils. The gaze drifted away dismissively, as if it had only been my imagination.

"Siming?"

On a golden palanquin draped in silver gossamer, drawn by divine birds, Siming reclined on a soft couch. He wore gray cloth shoes and a robe with golden threads tracing the deep-colored cuffs. A pale wrist extended from his sleeve, his five fingers entwined with red threads. His right hand supported his chin, his expression hovering between waking and slumber.

Beside him on the carriage was a youth in ochre robes, carrying a bow and arrows. His features were youthful yet stern; despite his endearing baby face, he possessed the presence of a leopard waiting to pounce. His arm muscles were taut, agile and alert, his gaze slowly scanning the surroundings.

"What are you looking at?" Siming asked with a smile.

The baby-faced youth replied, "You are too conspicuous."

Siming rose from the couch. He was exquisitely beautiful, his eyes filled with a smile, his hair like frost and snow cascading to the ground. His features existed in the blur between light and dark, neither immortal nor demon, neither human nor spirit, leaving one to wonder what manner of being he truly was.

"Sheng'er, do you want to participate in this year's Hundred Schools Tournament?"

"No need," Yan Sheng said with finality. "If you only want to send me away so you can go watch the chaos elsewhere, then forget it."

"What a pity." Siming sighed, a sound that was not quite a sigh. He toyed with the red thread on his finger and said leisurely, "I thought I saw an old acquaintance just now."

Yan Sheng frowned. "Friend or foe?"

Siming smiled and remained silent.

The Grand Banquet of the Hundred Schools followed a tradition established by the Three Pure Sages in ancient times. The first day was for scholars to debate, the second for various masters to spar, and the third for the trials of the hundred schools. Many rogue cultivators attended, hoping to catch the eye of a venerable master or, if fortunate, to secure an apprenticeship. At the very least, gaining a title could provide many benefits in their future cultivation. Many immortal sects did indeed use this opportunity to scout for disciples.

Cultivation is not easy. Apart from massive powers like Kunlun, the Nine-Fold Mountains, and the Thirteen Realms of the Xuan Sect, no sect could casually produce top-tier techniques, treasures, or pills. In the cultivation world, those with a true lineage are in the minority. Not everyone is born with an affinity for immortality; most rogue cultivators struggle in the dust, seeking only a sliver of possibility for enlightenment.

Thinking of this, I felt ashamed. My innate conditions were undeniably excellent, yet I was truly useless, having achieved nothing over the years and squandering countless medicinal herbs and classic texts.

The Nine-Fold Mountains held a transcendent status among the immortal sects, not just because of the Heavenly Venerable. The Heavenly Venerable had established a dojo years ago to preach and teach, and the Library of the Nine-Fold Mountains was open to all disciples. Even a mere chore-boy could peruse the secret manuals of ascension. Having preached for many years, the Heavenly Venerable commanded great respect, and many traveled from afar to witness his teachings. The books of the Nine-Fold Mountains were never locked away; for years, the Heavenly Venerable had tacitly permitted all beings to practice the arts of the Nine-Fold Mountains.

"Half the world bows to our master," Yingzhen said proudly. "The arts of my Nine-Fold Mountains are the standard for the world."

We had missed the first day's scholarly debates, but we caught a discussion between the Mohists and the Legalists. They were arguing about "Sentiment versus Righteousness"—one claiming, "The path of great righteousness serves the public good," and the other retorting, "To abandon sentiment for the sake of righteousness is to be a tree without roots, a river without a source; is that not chasing the trivial while losing the essence?"

I listened with great interest. It was the first time in my life I had seen so many cultivators gathered together—some debating the Way, others exchanging techniques. Yingzhen patted my back. "How is it?"

I answered honestly, "It's not burning anymore. Siming must not be nearby."

Yingzhen cursed, "That old pervert is up to no good. What kind of gift is a longevity lock that burns whenever he’s close? I can't believe Master didn't strike him down."

I didn't dare defend Siming, fearing that if I spoke, Yingzhen would turn her ire on me as well.

I hadn't forgotten the reason I came here. However, after so many years, expecting me to recall the original plot was asking too much. Besides, if I found someone with the same name, wouldn't that be awkward?

Fortunately, I didn't have to struggle for long, as I never expected it to be so effortless.

The protagonist of the original novel, the one I had obsessed over for over a decade, the protagonist who would spend hundreds of chapters locked in a mutual struggle with my father, the protagonist—whether he was reincarnated or not—

"S-Senior Sister, who was the one who debated the scholars and took the crown yesterday?" My tone was more urgent than it had ever been.

Yingzhen stroked her chin and studied me. "A nameless rogue cultivator, though after this battle, he won't be nameless anymore. What was his name..."

"Li Zheguang!"

"Youth is to be feared. This Li fellow issued battle posts yesterday that shocked the hundred schools. It’s been years since anyone dared to do such a thing. The boy issued forty-four battle posts, naming the top disciples of every school to debate."

"Once this happened, even the Sages couldn't help but come to see what manner of arrogant youth this was. Hey, look, that’s the one who flipped the table on the hundred schools."

Yesterday's battle had been so astonishing that it was still the talk of the town. Li Zheguang—a man without a master, without friends, without a sect—had emerged from nowhere, unparalleled in the past and perhaps the future.

In the scholarly debates, words could be sharpened into weapons. This mimicked ancient methods. During the chaos of the Warring States period a thousand years ago, figures like Su Qin and Zhang Yi could use their tongues to weave alliances and stir up bloodbaths. Now, years later, here came Li Zheguang, quoting classics, unperturbed in the face of danger, his silver tongue infuriating all who opposed him.

Forty-four debates. Li Zheguang, total victory.

The hall erupted in applause; the Sages lowered their eyes in acknowledgment.

The first day of the Grand Banquet of the Hundred Schools had ended in perfection.

I nervously twisted my fingers, relentlessly questioning Yingzhen about Li Zheguang. She looked at me suspiciously. "Do you know him?"

I shook my head reflexively, then lowered my eyes, feeling guilty. I did know this protagonist, but he certainly didn't know me.

"Senior Sister, has Father arrived?" I remembered this most important matter. Oh no, if the protagonist and the antagonist had already crossed paths, had the plot already begun?

"It shouldn't be that fast. We took the 'Inch-Distance Altar' shortcut. 'As close as a span, as far as the horizon'—is there any faster method in this world?"

After the literary trials came the martial trials. The sparring between the various masters would take place on the second day and would likely last for many days. I sighed in frustration. It was no use worrying now. This Li Zheguang was so conspicuous; he was clearly from a timeline that hadn't been ravaged by my father yet. Now, I should be worrying about whether my father would kill this fellow countryman of mine.

My feelings toward this protagonist were complex. After all, I had been obsessed with him for over a decade. When I was just his reader, I felt sympathy for his plight, but that was all. Just as when I read a moving story, I might weep for the characters, but the story would not affect my life; it would soon become a speck of dust in my memory.

Now, I had become a character in the story, and the others were appearing one by one. This feeling was deeply surreal. Over the years, I had never pondered why I had become an extra character in this story, nor why I had transmigrated into a book I had read.

These questions had no answers, so rather than fretting over them, I might as well think about what was for dinner.

After a long time spent thinking without finding a way to resolve the conflict between the protagonist and the antagonist, I sighed. I didn't want to see my father kill Li Zheguang, because the Li Zheguang of the first timeline was upright and noble, having done no wrong. I didn't want the immaculate Heavenly Venerable to be stained by the blood of an innocent.

I also didn't want to see the Heavenly Venerable defeated, because he was my father.

If so, it would be best if they never met. As long as they never met, the protagonist and the antagonist would be like two parallel lines, their fates never intersecting.

I knew my thinking was too simple and had many flaws, but it was the best solution I could come up with for the time being.

Just as I felt a sense of relief for finding a solution, my chest suddenly grew burning hot. A lock of white hair fell onto my shoulder, and someone behind me chuckled. "I thought you looked familiar. You've grown so much."

Siming lightly patted my shoulder, his fingers inadvertently sliding over the longevity lock on my chest. The burning sensation instantly vanished. He smiled kindly and said, "Did you have a fight at home? Why are you out here all by yourself?"